My Dear Miana

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Contently Deranged Travelers
It's not less heart aching for anyone to see the person he loves so much dies.

Submitted: April 29, 2016

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Submitted: April 29, 2016



I huffed in loudly, not at all attempting to be discreet, as I slammed the door close with my foot. Bang! the echoes of the useless object behind me that only served to interlude my entrance and exit resounded throughout the house.

"Miana!" I bawled aggressively as I carelessly threw away my briefcase. She should have been here, kneeling at my feet like always and ready to serve me like a humble slave.

"Miana, how come you have to be called twice?!" I stomped up to our bedroom, barging inside with the door brashly shoved as those last words left my mouth.


"MIANAAAAAAA!!!!" I growled and grunted, my voice amplified. I hurdled everything either onto the floor or against the walls. With an in vain effort and my face turning redder and redder by the blood that was boiling uncontrollably, I ran around the house. I felt like a madman, eyes bloodshot and hair disheveled.

Only when the reek of an odor filled my nostrils and every pore did I stop. I had to pinch my nose to prevent my tears from falling. The smell was that putrid. Tentatively, I crept inside the room at the end of the hall.

The sight that was projected in front of me was indescribable. The bathroom that was once spick and span was deranged. There were bottles of bleach, soap, and toilet cleaners strewn across the floor. Liquids of various colors ranging from pink, red, and green that all swirled together but can never seem to be merged into one another all ended up traveling into the drain. White powders of detergent and baking soda were sprinkled around the circumference of the liquids. It could have been a great masterpiece of pure coincidence had the result of this unfortunate action had not brought some loss.

Inside the bathtub laid Miana. Miana, the love of my life, was nothing but bones. The tub and the shallow water buoyed her up, exhibiting her face that was still gaping with horror. It was this image that I was able to distinguish the smell: the fetid acid and the charred flesh. That was also when I realized that the assumed water was merely acid and corrosive materials.

Even with the black stocking that covered her whole naked body— an attempt that I conjectured was to suffocate herself before drowning herself in a pool of acid— I was still able to glimpse at the swollen skin and those empty sockets that those beautiful blue-green eyes had once occupied. They were so full of life, back then.

All my rage dissipated, replaced only with shock.

"Miana," I whimpered, dragging myself toward her and the gruesome scene. "I—"

I made my way passed the mirror, taking in my reflection without the desire to indulge in my own appearance like I had used to. No. I felt shattered. Part of me had been with her so long it was strange to know that it was gone. My glance slid toward a little note sticking on it.

'Kikory,' it read. I took out the note with trembling hands. 'My whole life has been tortured by you but never once have I complained. I love you and that is all what matters. I can endure anything as long as I'm with you, as long as you come back to me at the end of the day.

'I have been battered physically, mentally, and emotionally. Today is the last straw. I'm so, so sorry. I know how you're conservative and feel that the concept of patriarchy is mandatory. I don't blame you. I'm too weak to bear this pain that has been cumulated for over a decade.

'Kikory, please don't misunderstand that my feelings for you has dwindled from all that time we've spent together. I just can no longer accept how every time I voice an opinion, violence ensued. Your uncontrollable had left me no choice. Please, forgive me.'

"Yours, forever and always," tears welled up in my eyes as I finished the letter, "Miana, your loyal wife."

We had this argument this morning like we always had every day. The topic varied, though. Today, she had asked about going outside. I understood that so had kept her here more as a prisoner and less as my wife. She just wanted to explore the country, be like other normal women who could now roam freely without the limitation in travelling and behaviors. She needn't have to stay caged in this hollowed abode with nothing to do but cleaning and cooking. Rarely she was allowed to go grocery shopping. That was it.

I'd never told her that I loved her. I'd never displayed any affections toward her. No flowers, chocolates, or dates. All she had received from me all the years that we had been a couple as blow after blow of my hostility. Every pressure, every anger. I had no method of letting out but to assault her. She was my personal punching bag.

I slumped against the door and took in everything somberly. I thought of not crying but these stubborn trails of tears from Hell had set off. I couldn't protect her from herself! For a moment, I thought about setting myself free with all the remaining toxic household item. Sadly, I knew what I needed to do when my head had cleared a bit from the tears that had left me with better feelings.

I dialled the number that I had never thought of calling.

"So?" I asked him urgently once he had inspected everything that Miana had left for me to find.

"My friend, this is no suicide," he said, gauging my reaction. Gingerly with shaking hands, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"Then what is it?!" I bellowed with impatient. If he did not start talking in less than a nanosecond, I swear that I will punch him so hard all of his teeth were dislodged from their places.

"This is a homicide."

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